DadCentric

Freak on a leash

Have we talked about baby leashes here?  Or is baby harness the more PC term?  I tried scouring our archives of 1,236,964 posts (Whit, can you please slow down just a bit?) and started to get blurry-eyed around 700.  So, in short, if we have discussed this here, I apologize for being redundant.

I have never been a big fan of them.  I've thought they were silly.  Some people think they're inhumane, though I'm not willing to go that far.  I just think that a toddler is a little too young for that lifestyle.  Um, anyway.  Like I said, I've never really been keen on attaching a harness to my child.  That being said, I can say that I might actually be able to see the wisdom in their use.

The Dubyas have been doing some traveling as of late - Florida, California, Pennsylvania - and there have been airports and wide-open spaces.  Little Dub, being the two-year-old he is, has been exhibiting some stroller aversion at times.  I'm not sure what his problem is: sit in the seat shaded from the sun, sippy-cup in hand while someone else pushes you around, sounds like a good deal to me, as do naps, but that's a post for another day.  Ok, back to the aversion.  When he starts to get feisty, I usually take him out and carry him for a bit or he'll walk while holding my hand, however, both are only short-term solutions at best - he gets heavy after a while or there's something shiny that catches his eye and his little hand slips my grip and then it's like trying to catch a squirrel.  I know it's all about shedding the confines of the stroller and experiencing the world around him, but while he's running and looking at things on the ground, he's causing people to look like they're doing tire drills or their best Heisman impression.  Amusing, yes, but still a tad disruptive.  It is during those times I see the wisdom.

As I mentioned, I haven't entirely come around to the idea of actually using one.  That being said, I have noticed how varied they are in style.  The Road Warrior-version aside, there's the standard nylon type (though I'm not sure if "restraint straps" in the description is a great marketing ploy - sort of conjures up images of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest) to the harness/backpack, cute and cuddly style - it does bring new meaning to "monkey on your back."  If I were to get behind one, it would be the latter, but I'm still not sold.  How about you, fans of DadCentric?  Freedom to safely run about or an early intro to BDSM?

Summertime In The Sanctuary

It's Summertime, gentlemen, and with the blazing heat (residents of the gray mass known as San Francisco excluded) comes the skimpy swimsuits, hot bods and other such eye candy - not that we're looking or anything, of course.  We're just aware, wives.

Anyway, while surfing the net yesterday - OK...it was PerezHilton - I came across something that really put Summer in perspective...if you're a Quaker.  It's swimwear for the modest and wholesome.  Finally, there's something practical and sexy frumpy for those who feel a little leg is a little much.  God knows [literally] that knee caps and shoulders are the gateway body parts to unabashed promiscuity, so, cover that stuff up, sisters in Christ, lest ye tempt thy males.

I'm not going to lie.  This isn't something I haven't seen before.  I vividly remember church youth retreats to the skating rink where the poor ladies had to rock the rink in culottes as hymns blasted through the stereophonic sound system.  Talk about a cock-block!  Even a 13 year old with a nuclear libido like I had has a difficult time making something sexy out of a cute chick with bloody knees limping off the rink after a rambunctious couple of orbits to "Bringing In The Sheaves".  Culottes = Not Sexy.  Always.  Mission accomplished, I guess.

I'm all for modesty, if you so choose, ladies.  And I understand if some of you have issues with your body (theocratic or otherwise), but, seriously...let's not resort to a Spandex undergarment with a potato sack top, OK?  There's a big difference between a day at the beach and a day of beach-adjacent fellowship with your Brothers and Sisters.  Please don't confuse the two.

The Highway's Jammed with Broken Heroes, On a Last Chance Power Drive...and Thanks to The Optional 3rd Row Seats, there's Room For Grandma and Grandpa!

There is, of course, a baby on the way, and we're now deep in the process of examining every aspect of our lives and trying to figure out what things we need to trade in for a bigger model. Naturally, tops on my list are a 50 inch plasma TV and a longboard; Beth is of the mind that we need a bigger family car.

I have to say that The Forthcoming Bundle of Joy # 2 Experience has been much less stressful than our first go-round. At least for me; I'm feeling a bit like Tom Sizemore in Saving Private Ryan; I've been there, in The Shit - literally and figuratively - and when November rolls around, I'll be ready. Once more unto the breach, etc. But the car thing has me vexed.

First, we have a fairly big SUV - the Nissan Xterra. It's been great; its undisputable value as a surfmobile notwithstanding, there's plenty of room for one kid, one dog, and all of the attendant crap that accompanies both. Those of you with babies will be happy to know that the attendant crap decreases expontentially with each month following the one year mark (really, one has to wonder how many parents go for #2 simply because they spent $800 on that goddamn Bugaboo and by Christ there's gonna be a baby in that thing until the axles rot and the wheels fall off). The problem is this - the Xterra, which still looks and runs great, is creeping up on 90,000 miles. The clock is ticking.

Second, we've both decided that there will be no minivan. No offense to minivan people - but we are not minivan people. We've tried to want one, we know they get better gas mileage and have the sliding doors and seat 30 people and can go underwater and can turn into giant robots, but we are not minivan people. We are SUV people. Surfboards and tents. (Ok - that's all me. You could probably talk Beth into a Nissan Quest, what with the cool multiple sunroofs.) That said, after much deliberation, we decided to give serious consideration to a pair of so-called CUV's - "crossover utility vehicles", namely the GMC Acadia and the Saturn Outlook. They seemed like a happy compromise - lots of interior space, folding third-row seats, better gas mileage than a full-sized SUV, car-like handling. What's not to love? Oh. The price. A quick glance at the MSRP, a go-round with the GMC Payment Calculator, and I came to the decision that I'd rather deal with a prolapsed rectum than those monthly payments. 

So the vexation continues. If there's a bigger pain in the ass than the process of buying a new car, I've yet to experience it. I may have to reassess my stance on minivans; the rocket launchers, though, are a dealbreaker. I'd be remiss in my fatherly duties if the family ride was vulnerable to attacks by giant radioactive scorpions. 

The Official DadCentric Guide To What To Get Dad For Dad's Day That I Actually Wrote For A Site For Moms

I don't pay much attention to Father's Day - I'm an Arbor Day man myself - but Charlene Prince Birkeland asked me to send along some suggestions on what to get the dad who has everything but still wants more, greedy bastard. You'll be the first against the wall when the revolution comes, capitalist running dog lackey dad who has everything. Vive la guerra! Anyways. This is what I came up with.

Rounding out the top ten: a jet-powered hang glider, a submarine, a lifetime supply of Triscuits, a couple of hours with Alan Thicke, the original master reels of the Beach Boys' "Smile" (and people laughed at me when I said I was sending my sidekick Kato, a ninja schooled in the ancient art of hypnosis, to pay Brian Wilson a visit. Bidding starts at $320,000; email me if you want in), and a pony.

DadCentric Official Seal of Approval

I had about 6 different posts in my head, but the week got away from me. And after tonight's visit to the Accountant, where we learned how much we're going to be sending to Uncle Sam on  - I should say, starting on, as it's really quite a lot - April 15, I feel a bit like a male model in a Robert Mapplethorpe photo. So to offset that, here's some shouts-out to some cool stuff you should be aware of.

The Dangerous Book for Boys, by Conn and Hal Iggulden. The Igguldens have assembled everything a boy ought to know - how to build a periscope, the secrets of Navajo code-talking, how to hunt and cook a rabbit, the laws of rugby(!), the basics of English grammar, the history of artillery, the Seven Ancient (and Modern) Wonders of the World, how to play poker and chess, seven poems every boy should know (no Vogon offerings, unfortunately), and a chapter on girls ("Avoid being vulgar. Excitable bouts of windbreaking will not endear you to a girl."). The book's an absolute delight, a reminder that the world's still a big and exciting place.

Friday Night Lights, Wednesdays at 8:00, NBC. Simply, the best show on, well, TV that you don't have to pay for. Calling it a show about football is like calling Moby-Dick a book about a pissed off whale. Tremendous writing, even when things veer into Clicheland, and truly three-dimensional characters who never fail to surprise and move you. Tonight's season finale may be the series finale - although there are some positive indicators that it will be picked up. Do yourselves a favor and watch the reruns and put the DVD's in your Netflix cue - hell, BUY the set, and if you don't like I'll refund your money. If you don't believe me, believe Scott Tobias. Oh, and the band that does the theme music...

Explosions In The Sky; their latest, All Of A Sudden I Miss Everyone, is fantastic. If you haven't heard these guys, check them out at their website.

Also, a PSA: if you're a blogger, and are planning on being in L.A. on May 19, LA Daddy's throwin' a kegger. If you go, make sure you raise a glass for Kurt.

Ironically, They Sell A Product Called 'Frack'

This weekend, I found myself pondering a couple of fairly deep questions. How much is my time worth? And if I had a time machine, what would I do with it?

Beth is now working from home, and I'm actually making progress with the book I'm writing (i.e., I'm actually WRITING, not merely thinking abut writing) so it was decided that we should convert some available space into an honest-to-God office. We have a dining nook that to date has served as an endzone/backline for indoor football/soccer games. We'd need a new desk and some shelves, plus something to partition off that section.

This sounded like a good idea, and I would have been more enthusiastic had it not been for the fact that we didn't want to sink a lot of money into the project. Which meant one thing.

Ikea.

It's difficult for me to convey the stark depths of my hatred for Ikea. But I'll try.

So many facets. The Tool (actual Swedish name: "fukdis"), of course - that aborted conjoined twin mutant Allen wrench horror that I'm sure will be the cause of mypremature arthritis. The particle board (actual Swedish name: "moosoffal") that inevitably cracks when one inserts a screw, or bumps it on the floor, or looks at it in a cross manner. The stores themselves, more disorienting than a Vegas casino (I'll interrupt my own metaphor with an update - Beth has been working for most of the day on a shelving unit; she just informed me that a piece, a fairly good-sized wooden section, is gone, nowhere to be found. More on this in a second.) The little wooden connector pegs (actual Swedish name: "peg", which seems benign until one remembers the definition of "peg" as found on www.urbandictionary.com; yeah, makes perfect sense) - one of which is always missing.

There's all that, but the clincher for me is that no matter how closely one follows the carefully worded directions (and by "worded" I mean "no words at all, just a bunch of out of scale drawings that look like they might have been written by Wile E. Coyote"), I inevitably get about 3/4s of the way through the building process when I notice that I've used Widget A and not Screw B on one small section of the thing and thus have to take the whole fucking desk apart and put it back together, and oh, the screws, made as they are of Number 2 pencil lead, have all been stripped, and good luck with that.

(Back to current Ikea nightmare - the missing wooden piece is still missing, and Beth, who often admonishes me for my Hyde-like temper that emerges every time I have to build Ikea furniture, is on the couch after a brief bout of swearing at the new bookshelf. Good sign - perhaps this is the last of our Ikea purchases ever. And wives/partners - until you've gone through the hell of trying to put one of these bastards together, do not judge the Ikea Hate.)

So to my questions. How much is my time worth? That can be answered with another question - does Pottery Barn have something like that ? What would would I do with a time machine? Travel back to 1943, and persuade a certain Ingvar Kamprad to just stick with the meatballs and the ligonberry juice.

Lucas' Obsessions O' The Week for Fri., Nov. 3

Because there's nothing quite as fascinating as what my two-year-son is currently fawning over, I bring you the first in a recurring series. These are the kid's current fixations.

ON THE TUBE: Little Einsteins. As a proud Horrible Parent (today, for example, I taught my kid to say "Jagshemash!" and "My name-a Borat!"), I routinely place the boy in front of the TV while I do important things. I want him to be smart, so that he doesn't end up getting stuck in Iraq (ha! Just kidding! Because if history tells us anything, it's that governments always draw from the ranks of the intelligentsia and the social elite when they need to build up the infantry. Why, just look at the number of sons and daughters of Congressmen who are currently on the front lines in Iraq and Afghanistan!). Thus I'm glad he watches Little Einsteins. Each episode features classical music. So it must be good for the kids.

ON THE IPOD: Farmer Jason, "Rockin' In The Forest". The kid likes his rock. The other evening we were sitting at the dinner table, and the Violent Femmes' "Blister In The Sun" came on. "Do you like this song?", I asked Lucas. "Yeah! It's MY SONG!", he yelled. I replied, "It's about touching your pee-pee." "Oh", he said. "It's your song, Daddy." (True story, ask the wife.) He also seems to enjoy Farmer Jason's new release, entitled "Rockin' In The Forest". While there are no overt references to self-abuse, there are songs about skunks and trees. Jason is the Jason from Jason and The Scorchers, who I enjoyed back in college. Which makes him cooler than Dan Zanes, who used to be in the Del Fuegos. Or Del Amitri. Or Los Lobos. I forget which. It's a good album; fun for the kids, and easy on adult ears.

IN THE TOYCHEST: The cheap black vinyl football we picked up during our last Old Navy run. A tip: go to Old Navy, pick out a bunch of clothes for your kid, don't buy them, wait three weeks, then go back and buy the stuff after they've knocked 50% off the original price. Yesterday marked a milestone - the kid actually caught a pass! Held out both hands and by God caught it! I immediately made plans to move to Odessa, Texas. Tonight we spent more time tossing that black vinyl football. Next week we go to Two-A-Days.

FROM THE LIBRARY: The Littlest Pumpkin, by R.A. Herman. This is about a verti-girthally challenge pumpkin who gets passed over by all of the kids looking for that perfect jack-o-lantern. The theme is very similar to that found in the Foster Farms Chicken commercials - death-worshipping main characters long to be eviscerated and/or eaten. SPOILER ALERT: the Littlest Pumpkin gets his wish, as a bunch of mice end up carving him up for their Halloween party. The moral of the story seems to be that if you are small, people will find you worthless, but you'll be prized by vermin. As Halloween was three days ago, I'm confident he'll be bored with this book by the end of November.

For All Mankind

I like Seven [For All Mankind] Jeans.  Yeah, I know what you're thinking - "Well, la-di-fucking-da, Whiffleboy, Levis not good enough for ya?"  No, not even close.  They don't highlight my perfectly sculptured ass well enough, the waist is too high, the stitching is weak, and the denim is too thin.  Sevens, on the other hand?  Well, you'd just have to try them to really understand, but, I can tell you this much:  When my wife sees me in them, they're not around my waist for much longer.

Why am I telling you this?  Well, I just scored a pair off eBay* for a great price.  That's why.

*Yes, they're authentic.  I know how to check that stuff.

T-Shirts! Get Your T-Shirts!

We've partnered up with Erin at Tales of A Baby Human to bring you some swag. For a limited time only, you can outfit your kid in DadCentric couture. Simple, yet complex. Buy 'em here.

Don't you wanna make him stay up late

I've been staying up later in the evening lately as Little Dubya has been...um...how to say this tactfully...NOT FUCKIN' SLEEPING.  Is that too harsh?  I have been doing this since Mrs. Big Dubya is with child and I'm trying to do my best to let her get as much sleep as possible.  However, it's not always easy when the baby monitor is right next to her head and he decides to go into full-on wailing banshee mode.  That's when I try, like a bull in a china shop, to scramble lumber quietly up the stairs.  I mean well, but sometimes I make as much noise as Little Dub.  But that's neither her nor there.  My point is that I stay up late.

I just got a new laptop.  Mrs. Big Dubya hooked a brotha up and now I have a brand-spankin' new Dell E1705.  It's pretty sweet with its Bluetooth wireless, 1GB SDRAM, 100GB hard drive and Intel Core Duo Processor - I likey.  Again, that's not really the point, but I'm getting there.  As with any laptop, it allows me to use the Web anywhere unlike in the past where I would be tethered to the desk upstairs  Sure, I could have used Mrs. Big Dubya's any time, but that's hers and I never really did feel right about it.  But, I just never wanted to head upstairs for any long period of time to go on-line.  Hence, new laptop.  Drawback?  I can now spend entirely too much time surfing while I wait for the little guy to erupt in "he's pulling out my toenails with pliers" screams.  Too vivid?  I say it doesn't even scratch the surface on how loud and brain-piercing it actually is, but, again, I digress.

In my aimless clicking of links quest for knowledge, I stumble upon all sorts of interesting things, as I'm sure many of you do as well.  Hey, stop shakin' your head, you know I'm right.  First step to recovery is admitting you might have a problem, remember?  Anyway, I know Father's Day has come and gone, but ladies, maybe your guy has a birthday coming up?  Anniversary?  Maybe he put the toilet seat down?  Well, if you're looking for something to get him, might I suggest this fine example of American ingenuity and know-how.  Perfect for the guy on the slow go.  Make sure you check out the picture of the guy at the bike rally at Sturgis - I think that says it all.

Next up - how's your dexterity?  Me?  I'm about as nimble as a...nimble as a...can anyone help me with an accurate comparison?  Nevermind.  I'm just not all that dextrous.  But if anyone has the time, inclination and patience, I'd love to see the final product on this.  Oh, yeah, almost forgot.  A smattering of Spanish pudo ser necesario.

Finally, I know Greg posted about the Salon "Kindie Rock" article yesterday, but last night I stumbled on something at elbo.ws which took me here and finally to a blog called (sm)all ages.  Some of you might already be familiar (I was not - shame on me), but if you're looking for alternatives to The Wiggles and music of that ilk, it's as good a place as any to start.  In fact, Friday, June 23's post includes Sleater Kinney, The Eels and the Chili Peppers - that's something I can get behind.